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Stacey L. Lacik

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Stacey L. Lacik

Tag Archives: Sorrow

Variations On A Theme

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by Stacey in The Journey

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Tags

abandonment, Bible, depression, Divorce, God, Grace, Grief, Healing, loss, mercy, rejection, salvation, Sorrow

Grief….Loss….Rejection….Redemption….

Many, many years ago, we were given a paper in church that required us to fill out a questionnaire in order to identify the predominant themes in our life. I obediently filled mine out, along with my story of “how I got saved” (pardon my Christianese), and tucked it safely within the back pages of my Bible, where it still lives today. The point of filling it out was to be able to clarify for ourselves our own narrative, so that if we were ever asked to, we could share our testimony. Being extremely shy, I never intended to share my story with anyone. I didn’t even know I had one. The major theme of mine was rejection, although grief, loss and depression ran a tight race behind.

Every loss that I’ve ever experienced has been primarily a result of having been rejected or left behind, whether by my biological father, my spouse, a trusted spiritual leader, or a mentor. I was not one of those children who believed that my parents’ divorce when I was a child was somehow my fault, or that I was in any way to blame. I don’t remember feeling anything but sad, to be honest. Nor did I feel that it was in any way my fault when, years later, my father disappeared suddenly, in the middle of the night, leaving everyone to assume he was either dead, or had somehow fallen off the planet. (Come to find out, he was living a whole new life on the other side of it, complete with a new identity and a new family, but that’s another story for another time). I’ve always had a pretty good grasp on reality for the most part, and I assumed at the time that he had problems of his own, and in all likelihood was running away from himself, more so than from any of us. (Still is, now that I think about it, but that, too, is a story for another time).

My husband also left (more than once) to pursue a life out in the world without us, but that one did feel a lot more personal, I have to say. As did the rather sudden departures of various spiritual leaders and mentors in my life; especially those who swore up and down that they would never, for any reason, put me through the same hell I had already lived through in my past. But, away they went, without warning or cause, leaving a snarled mess of unfinished conversations, broken promises, and heartache behind them.

Abandonment and rejection are not at all the same thing. What my father did was abandonment – he left, I believe, for reasons that were pretty much all about him. What the others did was rejection; they were saying, in effect, that they just didn’t want me. Or at least, they just didn’t want me any more. For whatever reason.

These themes: grief, loss, depression, and rejection are woven throughout the fabric of my life; to pull them out would be to undo the whole. But also woven through this story are the themes of grace, mercy, forgiveness, and deliverance, placed lovingly and deliberately by God Himself. He gathers up all of those random, broken pieces and threads, and turns them into a beautiful whole. What’s more, He doesn’t just crumple it up and throw it away, or get tired of us, or turn His back on us. When we bring all of our brokenness to Him – even that which we’ve brought upon ourselves – He welcomes us with open arms. There is absolutely no rejection for those who become His children through faith in Christ.

This is what is known as “healing”. Our personal healing lies in the telling of our testimony; all that we’ve been through, and all that God has delivered us from. Our testimony becomes our ministry, so to speak. God rescues and redeems us from the depths of our sorrow, and strengthens us to go and help other people up and out of theirs. And then – if we’re willing – He uses us, unfinished and imperfect as we are, to weave beautiful new threads of grace and mercy through the lives of others.

I am grateful – so grateful – for all that God has done in my life. For all that He has set me free from, and for all that He has healed me from, and for everything that He has brought me through. I still have a long way to go, and a lot to learn, but I am comforted by the fact that I am not alone on this journey, and that there is hope at the end of it.

“It seems to me that we have a lot of story yet to tell.” – Walt Disney

Unsettled

18 Friday Nov 2016

Posted by Stacey in The Journey

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Bible, depression, Divorce, Family, Grief Loss and Bereavement, Home, Pastoral counseling, Single-parent, Sorrow, SOZO, stress, Theophostics

sam_5280It isn’t easy, this constant moving. The unmaking of a home is always a time of intense grieving for me; always moving, but never a settling of heart. None of these places are “home” in the sense that four walls and a roof of your very own are. These are not appliances I picked out and bought; nor, for that matter, are the paint colors on the walls. It doesn’t mean I’m not grateful, or that it isn’t nice, it just isn’t mine.

We perch on the edge of our boxes, my daughters and I, clutching rolls of packaging tape and bubble wrap, and wait for the next wave to hit. The stress to hit. There is no opportunity to just . . . rest. Sleep is fitful, and full of odd dreams, in which total strangers are always taking my stuff out the front door, and loading it into trucks. Most of my dreams are about moving, or my marriage, and the home we owned when the girls were small. All are very intense, and vivid, and full of sadness.

There are no days of waking up happy, and worry-free. Hasn’t been, either, for many years. I keep saying that the last ten years have been, for me, just one very long, very bad year, but yesterday I realized that it has been a whole lot more than ten. Somehow, I never thought in a million years that I would be alone this long, or would end up raising two kids on my own. We have moved so many times I can’t remember what the kitchen looks like when I think of going down to make coffee in the morning. I keep reaching for light switches that aren’t there. People who don’t have to move constantly have no idea what it’s like (but they mean well), in much the same way that a therapist who has never personally been through a divorce, or ever been a single mom, cannot really understand what you’re going through, and thus cannot possibly know how to help. They don’t even know what questions to ask, and “interventions” fall to the wayside like poorly aimed arrows, missing the mark by a mile.

I miss my life. The happiest times were when my kids were little, and I was able to be home with them. I’ve heard many women say this, but it’s true. We had a tiny little house, but it was ours, and we painted the rooms, and planted flowers, and made it home. I’ve tried to recreate it, as much as possible wherever we go, but I’m suddenly realizing that I’ve been dragging this same stuff around for almost twenty years now, trying to hang onto a life that’s long gone and over. (An arrow aimed at this would have made at least one session well worth the money). The house is long gone, and the kids are young adults now, and doing well in spite of everything we’ve been through, but I wish – how I wish – with all of my heart – that I could have given them a safe and stable home while they were growing up. I wish I could give it to them now, but it’s too late. Seems too late, anyway.

So, those are my thoughts tonight. I’m supposed to be writing clinical papers, but can’t concentrate, so it’s off to bed for now, and I’ll try again tomorrow. I am (clearly) overtired and stressed out, and feel way too old for all of this. My thoughts are heavy these days, and don’t lead anywhere healthy. I have one spot in the house – in every house – that’s mine; it’s where my chair, and my desk, and my Bible are. It’s the first thing I set up whenever we move into a place, and that’s where you’ll find me every morning, pen in hand and coffee ready, whether I’ve slept well or not. I am well aware, on the periphery of my mind, that there is much work to do and there are many people to help, especially those who are still caught in the mess of Sozo, and Theophostics, but all of that will have to wait for right now, because this work has to be done first.

See you in the morning, people. Good-night.

The Healing House

01 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by Stacey in The Journey

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Agnes Sanford, cataphatic prayer, Christian Living, Church, Counseling, David A. Seamands, Emotional Healing, False Memory Syndrome, False Teaching, God, Healing, Inner Healing, Jesus, Peace, Prayer, Recovered Memory Therapy, recovery groups, Refuge, rest, Robert S. McGee, Sorrow, The Bible, The Search for Significance, theology

It’s a difficult thing, this healing from misguided therapy.  And lonely.  There are no awards.  You don’t get a coffee mug, or a T-shirt saying “I survived False Memory Syndrome.”  Or, for that matter, one saying “I survived bad psychotherapy”.

I have studied everything I can get hold of, and my brain feels stretched and tired.  I’m discouraged.  I feel I have so much to ‘unlearn’ that it’s not even funny.  So much of what I’ve been taught in this long journey as a Christian, and, I’m ashamed to say, so much of what I’ve believed and taught myself, is not even scriptural.  (Meaning, it can’t be found in the Bible).  It wasn’t until I had the space, time, and opportunity this past year to actually unpack everything, and look at each and every book and teaching I’ve collected over the years, and consider honestly where and who it all came from.  Because of crisis, because of having to leave an abusive situation and raise two kids on my own, while working and going back to school, I just kept “doing” without stopping.  The only times I had to think were the times I spent walking, and talking to God, and trying to process everything that was going on.

But I never really unpacked all of these boxes until we got to this house.  We never had the room, and I never had the time.

A couple of years ago, a co-worker asked me to come and be a counselor at her new place of ministry in the city.  It wasn’t long before she asked me to teach the group Healing for Damaged Emotions, based on the book (and workbook) by David A. Seamands.  The book is based on the popular notion that we all need healing from our past hurts and damaged emotions – that our inner child is controlling us because we have ‘unhealed memories’ that, through a process delineated throughout Seamand’s books, we can be now be healed, and so move on to living victorious Christian lives.  How the church survived without this enlightened teaching for over two thousand years, I don’t know.  What I hadn’t realized was how much of his teaching is based more on Eastern Mysticism than on biblical truth.  It was an obscure reference in one of his books to his ‘ashram retreats’ that caught my attention.  Not surprisingly, Seamand’s was raised in India, and his beliefs are more in line with other ‘Christian mystics’ who are also known proponents of cataphatic prayer* and methods of inner healing derived from the early synthesis of the teachings of Agnes Sanford and Carl Jung.  Somehow, and without our noticing, these teachings have crept into the church to the point where we have an entire ‘recovery’ movement based on healing our wounded emotions and healing our inner child.  We have sin-specific groups that are based not on fellowship and spiritual growth, but rather on our particular areas of woundedness and our identity as a victim.  Self-love is the new mantra of the church, but it’s bad theology.

I taught this myself, and now regret it, using Seamand’s diagram of the rings of a tree, showing how an injury from way back in our past influences our behavior today.  While I don’t dispute the notion that past injury can still affect us in the area of our current thoughts and behavior, the biblical standard of sanctification is pushed aside as a means of wholeness, and a self-absorbed victim mentality now presides over the throne room of our minds.  The idea that the root of our problems is low self-esteem, as Seamand’s teaches, is as egregious as the idea set forth in The Search for Significance, by Robert S. McGee: that the root of all of our problems is the fact that we are believing lies about ourselves.  The two teachings, taken together, result in a self-focused, lie-based theology rather than a God-focused, sin-based theology.

I think we’ve fallen far, and I know many, myself included, who have fallen hard.  We are wounded, not so much by our memories, but by the constant refrain that the only way to achieve a victorious Christian life is to heal all of our old wounded emotions.  The problem of course is that our emotions are going to, in all likelihood, be wounded again tomorrow.  Unless you find someway to cauterize those nerve endings, they’re going to get hurt, time and again, for as long as you live on this earth.  It becomes a never-ending process of self-absorption and introspection.

Does that mean we should never seek to be healed from past hurts?  No.  Nor am I a proponent of abdicating therapy, or counseling.  There is a time and a place to find a safe, wise person to talk to who can help or offer a different perspective, but it should lead to growth, wisdom and maturity, not stress, confusion and sickness of mind and heart.  It shouldn’t cost you your relationships, your job, your health, all of your resources or your education.  What I am saying is that we need to be careful.  Be very, very careful about jumping onto a bandwagon without first seeing it clearly for what it is.

The great enemy of truth is very often not the lie – deliberate, contrived and dishonest – but the myth – persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic.  J.G. Kennedy

*Cataphatic prayer is prayer that “honors and reverences images and feelings and goes through them to God.  This form of prayer also has an ancient and well-attested history in the world of religions.  Any sort of prayer that highlights the mediation of creation can be called cataphatic.  So, praying before icons, or images of saints; the mediation of sacraments and sacramentals; prayer out in creation – all of these are cataphatic forms of prayer.” (From Seeing is Believing, by Dr. Greg Boyd).  This book, like many others written by popular Christian authors, promotes the use of imagery and visualization in order to experience God and achieve inner healing.  God specifically forbids this, however, and likens it to the process of divination.

 

 

Midnight Musings

01 Sunday Nov 2015

Posted by Stacey in The Journey

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christian Living, Christianity, depression, God, Grief, Grief Loss and Bereavement, Pastoral counseling, Prayer, Sorrow

We had an event at church tonight, a fall festival in the parking lot.  There were bounce houses, games, cotton candy, and face painting.  Kids and colored wigs everywhere.

And underneath the costumes, and coats, and scarves, there was an awful lot of pain.

I heard stories of loss, and profound disappointment.  Stories for which there are no easy answers, when even offering to pray for someone sounds trite and condescending.  I think sometimes the reason we offer to pray for people is to make an uncomfortable conversation more palatable;  it makes us feel better, as though we’ve done something to help when, in truth, there is nothing that can be done.

This doesn’t fit our culturally sanitized version of Christianity.  I can think of five people right off the top of my head who would be so upset with me for even writing something like that.  We’re supposed to pray with power, and authority, and fix everything and everyone with scriptures, and platitudes, and hollow-sounding affirmations that fall on deaf ears and broken hearts.

Sometimes all you can do is just say how very sorry you are.  And leave it at that.  Sometimes there’s absolutely nothing to say, at all.  I know that when going through the worst of it, people would pray, meaning to help, wanting to do something, and it did nothing for me.  Things that helped?  Something to drink, hot or cold, depending on the day.  Space to be quiet.  Freedom to not talk.  A place to rest.  Sometimes a walk, even if I didn’t feel like talking.  I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t usually listening, either;  I was feeling the warmth of the sun, or the heat of the mug, or the softness of a blanket.  But that’s it.  When you’re grieving, people’s voices seem so far away.  They’re comforting, because it means you’re not alone, but the expectation to hold up your end of a conversation is physically exhausting.  Short, simple questions work best.  Not a lot of them.

My own, constant prayer on a bad day is “Dear God, please hold my heart together.  I can’t do this anymore.  I certainly can’t do this today.”

If we have kids, we do it for them.  I don’t know what people do who don’t have any.  I really don’t know.  I know I wouldn’t be here.

But tonight, dear God, please hold their hearts together.  The people who, for whatever reason, opened their hearts to me tonight.  Help them and hold them.

Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might.  – Ephesians 6:10

A Grief of Mind

10 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by Stacey in The Journey

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Christ, Christianity, depression, Grief, Healing, Hope, Sorrow, Soul Healing, Trust

Heavy-hearted tonight.  This has been a not-so-very-good day.  Opportunities for hurt feelings were multitudinous, for some reason, all the way to the end.  There are days I would rather I had not got out of bed, and this was one of them.

This is the farthest I have ever gone into the month without being able to pay my rent, and it feels surreal.  I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we’re short.  Inundated with medical bills, out-of-pocket prescription payments and a host of other things, and it is just not going to happen.  We never get to settle anywhere and feel safe.  I feel like I never get to breathe, or have five minutes of relief from the pressure of it all.  It is mind-bending.  And unending.  Like trying to dig your way out of a pit with a dessert spoon.

So, today didn’t help.  I don’t know what I would, or could have done differently,  I only know that it hurts.  Like hell.

One thing I am sure of:  I refuse to be bitter.  If we can’t walk in love, and grace, and mercy and forgiveness, then we have no right claiming the name of Christ for our own, or pretending to be His disciples.

My heart is both heavy, and hopeful.  It’s a whole new year;  anything can happen.  Good can happen.  All I know is, I refuse to quit.

Wait on the Lord:  be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart.  Psalm 27:14

"The art of writing is the art of discovering what you truly believe." -Gustave Flaubert

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